


After Death

by BatSuitClad



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Ep 69 spoilers, F/M, Mention of torture, Mostly WIP, My First Work in This Fandom, Spoilers, more to come - Freeform, sorry if it sucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-20 13:48:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8251324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BatSuitClad/pseuds/BatSuitClad
Summary: A look at what lies beyond the veil, and how it impacts you when you come back





	1. After Death and What Percy Saw There

**Author's Note:**

> My first fanfic in a while. Some Perc'halia for all the Bad News Bears shippers. But that'll be in ch 3. Really wanted to look at what Percy went through in the time it took Vox Machina to res him.

**After Death (and what Percy saw there)**

 

Pain.

He'd expected pain. The woman that had killed him had taught him about pain at a young age. Actually, not that long ago. And the trials and tribulations of his life had taught him of the various ways a person could hurt. The pangs of sleeping on the hard ground. The searing burn of hot metal on flesh. The sharp pains of being cut or stabbed. Physical pain would have been easy to endure...

He should have known he wouldn't be that lucky.

He watched helplessly, without even a body to intervene, as a giant with a beard fell to his knees. A figure stood behind his friend. A figure with a beaked mask. The figure raised the weapon in one hand. A pepperbox pistol. His own design...or so he'd thought. The roar from the pistol brought a scream from the white haired gnome watching as the body of Grog Strongjaw fell.

 The barrel of the weapon moved to the crying gnome, as another, this one with long dark hair, begged for the life of his love. All of Scanlan's honeyed words were fore naught. The figure merely fired again and Pike Trickfoot joined her best friend in death.

It was Scanlan's turn next, and with the body of his love lying limp upon the floor, he faced the figure, spitting an oath of revenge. Another roar, and he too fell, causing a wailing sob from the red haired half elf that knelt, unable to do anything.

The figure turned on Keyleth. The mask hid any emotion and the barrel leveled on the druid. A roar. A drop.

The last of the kneeling figures, a half-elf with dark hair, cried, and begged to be taken instead. A wailing plea to his deaf goddess. The figure turned...and seemed to pause. And for a moment, the watcher hoped. But that was the cruelest of things. The figured fired, ending the life of Vax'ildan.

The watcher wanted to cry, wanted to call out. Wanted to scream, to attack the figure himself. But there was nothing he could do. Suddenly, he was there. His body, anyway, but different. He watched himself go up to the masked figure, noting the features too...sharp to be his own. The cruelty in his eyes that surely were never there normally. Even in his rage and vengeance, he'd never looked like that...did he? Then the creature that looked like him smiled as he grabbed the figure by the waist and pulled close. The watcher saw to his horror the sharpened canines as he removed the figures mask.

The figure was a woman. One who he knew as well as he knew the features of his own face. _No. No. Not her._ But there was no denying his sight, or the recognition of her voice as she looked at the vampire that wore his skin. “I broke the world for us, Dahling.”

*                   *                  *

Other visions came to him. The world burning to the smell of sulfur and charcoal. His inventions used to cause the destruction of thousand...millions of others.

Whitestone, reduced to rubble and ruin. Everything he and his family had stood for destroyed by his own arrogance and anger.

His friends falling by his hands, or others wielding the damned contraptions he'd loosed upon the world.

Vision after vision came to him, and the pain that ran through his soul he would not have wished upon his worst enemies... And then the realization that he actually had... This is what happened to Prof Anders. Sir Kerion Stonefell. This is what he'd done to them... No god that would forgive him of this sin could ever be good.

As another vision came, this one of sweet Vex'halia, raised by his hand to be an abomination of life, because he didn't know what he'd do without her, he saw something new. A giant hand reaching for a black thread he'd never noticed before. The hand grasped the thread and he could see...Keyleth. The druid princess so innocent in her way that it pained him to see her learn the harsh lessons of life he'd learned so long ago. But it wasn't the naive shape changer he saw through that connection. Rather, it was the formidable future leader of the air Ashari that grappled with the thread that trapped him in these nightmares.

“No,” the rumbling voice of Orthax, his own personal demon, shouts. “NO! I finally have him...I finally...” And Keyleth's hand snaps the thread that connects Orthax and the prison that the watcher is in.

And in that moment, the watcher remembers who he is. He is Percival Frederickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III. His soul flies free once again, and he heads towards his final rest. And as he does, he hears the voice of his best friend as Keyleth shouts after him, “PER-”

 


	2. Adrift on the Astral Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being freed from Orthax, Percy finds himself on the Astral Sea with an old friend, while Vox Machina try to call out to his soul to convince him to return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much happier with the way this one came out. I really hope the voices match, and that is my biggest worry. Hope you like it. Really don't know what to put in the notes section.

Percy looked around as the waves lapped against his boots. When the water receded, he noticed there was no stain on the leather. The sea he stood on stretched in all directions, serene and peaceful. “Huh,” he said to the empty air. “I never expected a _literal_ sea.”

A gruff, imperious voice interrupted his contemplation. “It's not, you know. It's more a manifestation of your own” *cough* “subconscious viewpoint. As it were.” With a smile, Percy turned to see the red scaled dragonborn that had traveled with Vox Machina before his own duties had called him elsewhere. Duties that had ultimately lead to his death. Tiberius coughed again, the sound the familiar _harumph_ that Percy had become so accustomed to from his old friend. “Hello, Percival.” He wore the robes that Percy had last seen him in, and was tugging at the lapels to straighten them.

Percy had thought it would be a member of his family that would greet him in the afterlife, if such a thing did indeed exist. It was a great pleasure, therefore, to discover he had not been wrong. “It's...good to see you, Tiberius,” he said, his voice soft. For a moment, Percy could feel the awkwardness that was a perpetual mark of his interpersonal relations with those few he considered truly mattered, and not for the first time noticed the same reaction in his friend.

Finally, as if to break the uncomfortable pause, Tiberius cleared his throat. “You as well.” Percy noticed the extra stress on certain syllables that had been a defining characteristic of Tiberius' speech. Perhaps a result of Common not being his first language, or maybe something to do with the way the dragonborn's throat was formed. “Although, to be honest, I had expected Vax to the first to make this particular journey.”

A small smile came to Percy's lips at that, and the short pause that followed held none of the awkwardness that had come before. It was merely Percy's own speech pattern, thinking carefully before he replied to certain comments. “He has...been tempered of some of his more...fool-hardy tendencies,” he finally said, still not sure of the wording. In his youth, Cass had once told him that if he were left to his own devices, he would take days to form a single sentence, just to be sure he got the wording right.

“Yes, well, uh..” Tiberius' gaze fell to peer into the gentle waves at their feet and his eyes seemed to grow distant. “I doubt you'll be here long, in any case.”

Percy followed the look into the sea below and through the waters he saw himself, laid out upon a table as his friends...no, his family...gathered around him. He'd witnessed the resurrection ritual that had restored Pike to them, and it was with conflicting emotions that he realized that she was performing the same rite for him. It looked much more complex than the simple casting that Kashaw had executed to fix the terrible mistake he'd made, or the one Pike herself had done to return Grog after the sword Craven Edge (which Percival himself had given the goliath, he was quick to remember) had claimed his life. There was a fairly large diamond that Percy hoped wouldn't be destroyed when the spell failed. It would upset Vex to no end. “We could have done this for you, Tiberius,” he said, not realizing it for the first time, but never knowing why it hadn't felt right.

The reply came as a snort. “It would have failed, obviously.” Human, elf, or dragonborn, Percy knew the tone of politely offended nobility. “I gave my life in defense of Draconia, against one of the sworn enemies of my country, the way a Stormwind should.” The pride that the statement caused in his friend didn't take Percy off guard. It made sense. This was Tiberius and his country and family name had always been two of the most important things to him. “For a resurrection spell to work properly, or indeed at all, the soul has to be willing to return.” The quick switch in mode of speech from vehement pride to scholarly dissertation caused another quick smile from Percy. “And while it may continue elsewhere, I feel that my story on Exandria has come to a fitting conclusion.”

Percy turned once again to the vision below. There were tears in streaking down Vex's face, following what looked to be the dried remnants of so many others he hadn't seen. The sight was painful, but he knew the truth of the situation. “As has mine.” He watched his body lift up by a ray of light that extended up beyond the water and seemed to encase him. His heart ached for the effort that his friends were putting into the spell, and the cost, both physical and emotional, but his mind was firm. “This...was a good death.”

“Poppycock.” Percy snapped his head up to look at Tiberius, surprised at the fire in his voice. It was easy to forget at times the chromatic nature of the sorcerer, and the anger and strength it lent him. “You were murdered by a vile woman who had so little creative spark of her own that her only recourse was to plagiarize the inventions YOU had made, and by a shadowy demonic BUTTHOLE that you were strong enough to force out by your own strength of will.” Percy remembered the moment he had expelled Orthax from himself, and knew Tiberius was wrong on one point. It hadn't been his strength. He had merely borrowed _hers_.

On the material plane, Lady Vex'halia had placed a shard of residium on his chest and, sobbing, had started to speak.

> _Percy, I don't know if you can hear me..._

He could. How could he not? He always heard her.

> _...but...that day in Syngorn was on of the best moments of my life._

The memory brought Percy a fond recollection of the look on her father's face, and of the pride she had in that moment. That alone had made it worth it.

> _And not because of what you think. It wasn't because of my father, or the title. It was because of Whitestone._

He watched her face, breath held. It would be too cruel to find out this way. After...when it was too late.

> _It was because of you. You allowed me to be a part of the thing that you hold dearest, and I'm so proud..._

Whitestone was important to him, but some of the cruelest nightmares that Orthax had visited upon him involved choosing between the city and her...and he believed Cassandra would make a better ruler for a reason.

> _...but I don't want to be here if you're not. Whitestone still needs you, darling. I still need you here._

There was a pull on his soul that Percy could not ignore. What had once been an ironclad belief that there was no more of his story to tell, began to crumble. Vex leaned down and kissed his body, not on the cheek as she had so many times before, but a chaste, yet pleading kiss upon his lips. Her next words came out in a whisper, but the power behind them resonated in the Astral Sea as if they'd been a shout.

> _I should've told you: it's yours._

The pull became stronger, the conviction less resolute, but still standing.

Tiberius looked to Percy. “How can you leave, knowing that?”

Percy hung his head. “I don't deserve her. I got her killed with my own recklessness. I could have gotten them all killed by my need for petty vengeance.” It was true. That is what kept him anchored to the Astral Sea, but the moorings were starting to slip. “I have proven time and again that my actions have had a far worse impact on the world then any amount of good I could do.”

Rather than be angry at him, Tiberius seemed amused. “Good thing we know of a goddess that specialize in redemption, then, isn't it?”

Before Percy could ask what he meant, he felt another pull. This one not quite as strong, but made of pure light. And in it he could see the goddess Sarenrae beckoning him back to his body. He'd given up on gods and demons both, but the power of Pike's deity was strong, and he found himself drifting to it.

“No.” The word shocked him. “No. I've caused enough pain and suffering in this world. My journey is done. There is no more evil I can let loose.”

The fire of his ancestry found it's way back into Tiberius' voice. “Is that all you think you have done, Percival?” Percy looked into the reptilian eyes of the dragonborn and saw a rage there he'd barely glimpsed from him in life. “And are you so selfish as to think your story is the only one that matters here?!” Even the sound of the water seemed to die away in the face of that fury, and the silence that was left after was broken by the voice of Keyleth, the last one Percy would have expected to plead for his return.

> _Percy.. we had many conversations about life and death..._

His own words echoed in his ears. “I live as long as Whitestone stands.”

> _...and in many ways you are my total opposite._

The argument after the failed dealings with the Clasp came to his mind. Her unwillingness to compromise despite the good that could of come of it had angered him...and made him so very proud to call her his...

> _But you are also my best friend..._

...best friend.

> _...and... even though I told you that day that I gave you this that...we're all going to die and that you can still be saved from yourself,.._

Winterscrest in Whitestone. A celebration that would not have been possible if not for the family he'd found in Vox Machina...of which he was a part.

> _..it's clear the journey was far from over and it still isn't._

Below he watched as the red-haired druid used her magic to summon a barrage of crows to circle his body. He had always liked the birds, and of course she would remember that.

> _As much as you might think your journey is now over, just because yours might be, ours isn't. We need you and I need you._

Vax'ildan stepped up to his corpse and released the wings that the Raven Queen's armor gave him and folded them around the table to enclose Percy's body.

A final pull, and Percy felt the snap of the ties that held him to the Astral Sea...he had to go back. Not for himself, but for his family. For Vox Machina. With that realization, the pulls were no longer like a suction, but a suggestion. Guideposts on his path back to the material plane. He lingered but for a moment, looking back at Tiberius, whose all knowing smile spoke volumes. “Do you have any messages you'd like me to pass on, Tiberius?”

The dragonborn seemed to have been distracted by his own self satisfaction. “Hm...oh, you won't remember any of this anyway, so no point, really.”

Percy looked confused. “What do you mean I won't rememb-”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I think we all know what happened after that...or do we? There's a third chapter to this work. So prepare for some Canon Divergence....because my Bad News Bears casting Hunter's Hex and raining down Diplomatic Death from Above ship must be sated.
> 
> In other words, stay tuned for Perc'halia fluff.


	3. A Sister's discussion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra and Percy finally take time to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some breakfast conversations that get deep. If anyone has suggestions of how this should be tagged, please let me know, as I'm still learning AO3. Thanks.

A sharp pain on the back of his head woke Percy in the early hours, a contrast to the dull ache that plagued his body since the resurrection rituaal. Of course, neither matched the agony that resided in the depths of his soul. Thankfully, the nights rest had not been haunted by the terrible visions that had become is constant companions through the years. The only dream that he remembered was merely a voice.

 

> _I'm glad you're back._

Wishful thinking.

Percy looked up through eyes bleary with sleep and lack of lenses, at the face of a young woman that it was far too early to deal with. “Cassandra,” he said, his tone sour. “I love you, sis, now kindly go away.” His eyes closed, and he gave no bother to the fact that he still wore the clothes he'd died in as he settled further into the bed.

Cassandra's hand connected to the back of her brother's head again. She seemed way too pleased with the groan he let out as his eyelids came open once more. “You were always grumpy in the mornings, brother,” she told him as she made her way to the large window and threw back the heavy curtains. Percy immediately regretted his decision to switch to an outward facing room following the attack of the Rakshasa and it's assassins. The sunlight in his eyes stole away any chance he'd have had of returning to sleep.

But that's no reason not to try. “I don't suppose the fact that I was brought back from the dead yesterday will sway from whatever purpose you have in waking me this morning?” he asked, hope and resignation warring in his voice. He regretted the flippant tone instantly.

Cassandra hesitated. Percy doubted there was another person in the world who would have noticed, it was so fleeting. But even with the years they had spent apart, this was his sister.Casandra, however, recovered quickly. “That is precisely why you are going to have breakfast with me.” she waved a hand, and Percy noticed for the first time the small table that had been brought in and the two steaming bowls that sat on it. His gaze returned to his sister, and saw her nose wrinkled. “And then I suggest a bath before you join your friends at their meal.”

It was Percy's turn to hesitate. “Why not wait and all eat together? I know I've lost a bit of weight, but breaking my fast twice hardly seems necessary.”

Cassandra scoffed, good naturedly. “For one, I doubt any of them will be in a state to handle food till much later in the morning.” A smile found it's way to Percy's lips at that. If nothing else, Vox Machina knew how to celebrate a victory. “And while I long to hear the lies that little gnome will tell of your adventures in Marquet, some of us have a city to run while others are off gallivanting around foreign shores, fighting Pelor knows what, and dyin-” Cassandra's voice broke. She had tried to make her tone jovial, Percy knew, but even turning her head, she couldn't hide the falling tears.

The distance from the bed to his sister disappeared, and as he held her, Percy could feel the protestation of his limbs. He didn't care. Perhaps this was Keyleth's influence on him, but in that moment, the awkwardness that he usually felt in such situations was nonexistant. All that mattered was comforting his sister. “Shh,” he whispered into her hair as she clung to his coat. “It's okay. I'm here. I'm alright.” His hand came up and stroked her hair, black with it's two streaks of white at the temples. He realized, belatedly, he was mimicing how Vax would comfort Vex after stressful events. _Well,_ he thought, _there are certainly worse exemplars of brotherly affection to imitate._

The sobs soon bated, but Cassandra's next words did nothing to ease the burden in his heart for his sister's pain. “I'd thought I'd lost you.” Percy was about to offer more reassurance, but Cassandra continued before he could. “The night the Briarwoods came, I thought you dead along with...the others.” The few memories Percy had of the days after the feast accounted for no small number of his sleepless nights. “And then I found out you'd been given to...that sadistic witch.” A shudder ran through Cassandra, and Percy pulled her tighter to him. “the thought of her still out there worries me, Percival.”

It took Percy a moment to comprehend. They hadn't told her that it had been Ripley, on Glintshore. That her bullet is the one that ended Percy's life. And that after his fall, Vox Machina had torn her to pieces. Most likely literally if Grog was involved. “Ah, well, there I have good news...”

Cassandra snapped her head up to look him in the eys, and he was surprised to the the same level of relief he had felt at learning of Ripley's demise. That realization caused a terrifying thought that sent a bold of pure fear into the tattered remains of his soul. “No...tell me she didn't...” His voice shook with horror.

The tears in Cassandra's eyes belied the sardonic smile. “She did what every spoiled child does when it loses a favored toy. She found one that she didn't have to show as much care with.” The pain of faded scars filled his sister's voice, and Percy knew the power that gave Grog his fearsomeness in battle. The rage burned in him hot and bright. He would find her soul in the darkest pits of the Nine Hells. He would visit every torture she'd ever taught his flesh on it. He would rip it asunder. He would...do none of that. His blind need for petty vengeance had alread cost the world enough. As Percy calmed, the blood still pumping in his ears, the analytical part of his brain started working.

“The Briarwoods put a stop to it, I assume,” he said, somehow managing to keep his tone even. It wasn't a great leap in thought. Desmond, the poor carriage driver Percy had thoughtlessly mutalated for information, had been similiarly treated. The Briarwoods seemed like the type to shout, 'Look at the mercy of monsters.'

Cassandra nodded. “And before you say it, I realize now that I had fallen for one of the oldest manipulation ploys in the book. No need to rub it in.” Percy would have been surprised at the callousness with which she referenced her torture and manipulation, if he hadn't recognized his own defense mechanics at work. That was how he knew houw serious to take this.

“On the contrary,” he told her, “I was going to marvel at the strength it must have taken for you to fight them.”

Against his chest, Percy could feel the smile on his sister's face. Not sardonic this time, but genuine. That was good. Then she pulled back, steadier than she had been. “Come. Our food grows cold.” Another look of only partially mock disgust. “And the sooner we eat, the sooner you can take that bath.”

They sat at the table, and Percy looked at the still warm bowl of gruel, suddenly quite hungry. He wondered briefly if his sister had chosen the simple meal so he could join his friends in eating later. Then, he realized she was having the same thing, eating with the same delicacy she would show for a state dinner. Advice passed down from de Rolos long gone came to his lips. “No ruler should ever eat better than the most meager of their subjects.” Their father had been fond of the axiom, though seldom took it as literally as Cassandra seemed to be. The remark provoked a slight nod of acknowledgement, reaffirming Percy's belief that the correct de Rolo watched over Whitestone.

“Speaking of subjects, Percival,” Cassandra said as she lifted a spoon, “there are matters we should discuss...regarding a certain Baroness.”

Percy swallowed the food in his mouth with only a modicum of difficulty. “Oh?”

“Yes.” Casandra seemed not to notice his distress, but Percy couldn't be completely sure that his actions were not as transparent to her as hers was to him. “I was wondering what date you would suggest for the titling ceremony.” This was not the conversation he'd been expecting, but it was one that Percy was infinitely more comfortable with.

“I had actually given some thought to that,” he said. “Perhaps...SpringCrest. That way it will align with the next running of the Grey Hunt.” He didn't add that it was also near the twins' birthday. “I think that...will be far enough in the future that the dragons will either no longer be an issue or...” His voice trailed at the end, realizing a bit too late where that line of thought was leading him.

“Or we won't be,” Cassandra finished smoothly. “Tactfully put, as always, brother.” The spoon dipped to the bowl. “Any...other ceremonies we should be planning?” she asked as she raised the filled utensil, eyeing him.

Oh. Drat. What did that look mean? As much as he could read his sister's body language at times, Percy had to admit to not being the best at reading people in general. Scanlan would be able to decipher the unasked question, undoubtedly. “Uh...nothing is coming to mind,” he said carefully.

“Hmmm...No...nuptuals forth coming...involving half-elves, perhaps?”

So that was it. To think he'd been worried. “Oh...possibly? I don't really know. Doesn't seem my place to pry.”

Cassandra looked at him as if he'd just grown a second head...and it belonged on an Illithid. “Not your place...to pry?”

“I mean, if Vax and Keyleth do decide to get married, I'd be happy to host the wedding here, but I don't know if they are in-”

He stopped as Cassandra's spoon slammed onto the table. “You are one of the most infuriating people on the planet, brother,” she said with a hiss. And then she reached into the bag beside the chair and produced a piece of paper. An envelope with a single name on it. _Lady Vex'halia_.

Ah...here's the conversation he was trying to avoid. “That...was only to be opened upon my death.” The seal, he could see, was unbroken, but so had been a number of father's correspondances that Cassandra had been privy to.

His sister gave him a suffering look. “Lucky for me, that you died.” He didn't for a second believe she'd waited for that incident to take place. “Let's see if I can remember how it began.”

Percy spluttered reaching for the letter. “I'd much rather you didn't.” To his surprise, Cassandra let him have it without struggle.

“Very well,” she said, smiling wickedly as she gathered her things. “But, brother, the contents are not something that should wait until after you are no longer here to express.” As she passed his chair, she leaned down and placed a kiss in his hair. “Think on the regret I know we both hold for the things we never told the rest of our family.” Percy looked down at the letter, thoughtfully. Perhaps Cassandra, as annoying as she could be, was right. Then that thought fled from his head as her hand connected to the back of it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to include more, but with recent events on the show, (SQUEELS like a little girl), *cough* I think this is a good place to end it. I could never do as well as Taliesin and Laura already did on stream. Hope to see people tonight and look for some more work featuring "Meanwhile, in Whitestone"


End file.
